youarenotalone

“Some promises hurt more when they’re broken than if they were never made at all.”

I thought I had felt it all.
The butterflies.
The magnetic pull.
The way the world fell quiet when our eyes locked.
All the clichés I used to scoff at - I lived them.
And I thought that meant it was real.

But what I really felt… was hope.
Hope that this one was different.
That this one would stay.
That this one would love me through it, not just love me when I was easy to love.

I showed him the darkest parts -
the corners of my story I usually keep hidden,
the jagged truths I never speak out loud.
And he didn’t run.
He did just the opposite.
He leaned in.
He comforted.
He promised.

Not just to stay -
but that if that time ever came,
if distance ever threatened what we had,
there would be a conversation first.
A moment.
A warning.
A chance to not be blindsided.

But there was no conversation.
There was no warning.
Just silence.
Just the slow realization that he had left me emotionally before he ever physically did.

And the part that hurts the most?
I believed him.
I let go of my fears because I thought—for once—I was safe.
That someone had finally seen me and didn’t want to leave.

But now I know.
Some people say things not because they mean them,
but because they know you do.

#BrokenPromises #lossandlove #writingthroughgrief #emotionalabandonment #SurvivorVoice #mentalhealthmatters
#Stillhere #SurvivorStory
#healingjourney
#ThisIsWhy
#EndTheStigma
#LiveAnotherDay
#youarenotalone
#FromDarknessToLight
#strongerthanmystormm

🧺 The Basket of Markers: A Post-Spravato Revelation

Tonight, I got high.
Not just “I’m giggly and everything feels soft” high — I mean clarity high. The kind that creeps up when you’re just living your weird little life, surrounded by your weird little things, and suddenly boom — therapy-level insight smacks you in the face with a Sharpie.

You see, I’m kind of a hoarder. Not the kind they make TV shows about (yet), but close.
Especially when it comes to stuff that makes me happy. Craft supplies. Journaling pens. Markers. Planners. If it comes in all the colors, I want all the colors. And not just want — I obsess. I organize. I keep things forever because I swear to myself, I’m gonna get back into that someday.

I don’t just have one planner.
I have five.
Each has a purpose, a location, and they’re all synced up like the Pentagon of personal organization. That’s how I work. That’s how my brain has always tried to create control out of chaos.

And then there’s my marker collection. We’re talking gel tips, fine points, Sharpies, off-brand craft store specials, and yes — I recently bought a 262-color mega pack because apparently, I like to own coloring even though I do it maybe three times a year.

But here’s the thing.

Tonight, I bought a new basket.
A Longaberger — because yeah, I collect those too.

And instead of separating every marker by brand, as I’ve always done, I put them all together.

Still color-coded (duh — I’m not a monster).
But for the first time, not by brand.

All mixed up.
All in one basket.

And in that quiet little moment, I realized:

This basket is me now.

Before, everything in my life was separated:
🖤 Before trauma / after trauma
🖤 Before the pain / after the breakdown
🖤 Before Owen died / after the world collapsed

I kept it all compartmentalized — like trauma Tupperware. Neatly labeled. Sealed shut. Keep the mess contained.

But since starting Spravato, something shifted.
My thoughts are no longer all-or-nothing.
My identity isn’t black-and-white.
And my healing doesn’t need labels.

Just like those markers, I can exist in the same basket.

The grief.
The growth.
The obsession.
The creativity.
The sadness.
The sparkle.

It all goes together now.

So maybe I’m still a little OCD, and maybe I’ll still color-code by rainbow arc because I like pretty things. But I’m not organizing by trauma anymore.

I’m organizing by joy.
By who I am now.
By what makes sense in this moment.

And that’s not crazy.
That’s recovery.

So yeah, maybe it’s just a stoned night with a bunch of markers and a woven basket…
Or maybe it’s Sigmund Freud meets radical self-love, with a gel pen in hand and a giggle in my throat.

Either way, I’m keeping the damn basket.
And I’m keeping all of me in it.

⸻

By Jenn
🌈 Color-coder of chaos. Hoarder of hope. Marker-wielding warrior.
#postspravatolife #healingoutloud #ocdbutmakeitart

#postspravatolife
#Stillhere
#healingjourney
#EndTheStigma #youarenotalone #FromDarknessToLight
#WhenNothingElseWorked
#GriefIsLoveWithNowhereTo #GriefIsLoveWithNowhereToGo #mentalhealthmatters #SpravatoSavedMe #writingtoheal #strongerthanmystorm #SpravatoHope #healingjourney #EndTheStigma #keepgoing

Just another day of surviving C-PSTD. Everything looks good on the outside. But on the inside, my stomach is twisted, my nervous system is barely functioning from overuse, and my soul is deeply exhausted.

The other day I was triggered by an employee at the DMV who did nothing but her job. I spiraled hard that day, I screamed and cried for hours. It wasn't just about the missing paperwork. It was the fact that I was never guided on how to do life or how to navigate adulthood. So every time I come face to face with a obstacle, and it doesn't pan out - Triggered.

First, I feel the weight hit my chest, then my stomach starts to churn. Tears are inevitable. But it's not just sadness. It's blinding hot rage and anger. I went home and collapsed into screams and sobs. At one point, I yelled at the photos of my departed mother, I find it harder to feel empathy for her with each passing day. It's hard to describe what I'm feeling on the inside or what it's like to heal from everything I experienced, so I'll try, it's word vomit, plus real vomit with a tidal wave of emotions with only one way out. Eventually, I passed out from exhaustion. My afternoon naps - those are the only times I really sleep. At night, the real demons come. In the dark. Where the other monsters reside.

Healing is a rollercoaster in my life. One minute I would be perfectly fine. The next - chaos.

I've learned this: healing is step by step. You define what that looks like.

I've noticed a pattern: first the emotions explode, then I sit. Then my mind starts sorting the facts. I need timelines,. Logic. The 5 W's: who, what, when, where, why.Eventually both sides of me - the emotional and the logical - meet. I can begin to co-exist with what happened. In the present and the past. Because once the emotional attachment releases, it's just a fact about me. And facts can't hurt me the way memories do.

I remind myself daily, I am not broken, I am merely carrying more weight than anyone should. About this post... these words... I've held them in my soul far too long.

To the reader that made it this far, I see you and I see your pain. I hope that you find what's been missing and reclaim it as your own.

#CPTSD #healingjourney #TraumaRecovery #MentalHealth #youarenotalone

Hi everyone, I’m new here. I live with depression, which can make even simple days feel heavy and hard. I’m learning to take things slowly and find small moments of light. Looking forward to connecting and supporting each other. 💙

#Depression #MentalHealth #youarenotalone

Hi everyone! I’m new here and wanted to share that I live with anxiety. Some days are tough, with racing thoughts and overwhelming worries, but I’m learning ways to cope and take things one step at a time. Looking forward to connecting and supporting each other. 💙

#Anxiety #MentalHealth ##youarenotalone YouAreNotAlone

Hi everyone, I’m new here. I live with PTSD, which affects many parts of my life—especially my sleep and how I handle stress. It’s a daily challenge, but I’m learning to cope and find support along the way. Looking forward to connecting with others who understand. 💙

#PTSD #MentalHealth #youarenotalone

Living with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) is a daily challenge—full of intense emotions, fears of abandonment, and struggles with self-worth. Some days feel overwhelming, but I’m learning to be kinder to myself and take one step at a time.

Therapy, self-care, and this community have helped me find hope and tools to manage the chaos. If you’re also navigating BPD, know you’re not alone.

#BPD #MentalHealth #BPDCommunity #youarenotalone

Insomnia feels like a constant battle—lying awake while the world sleeps, my mind refusing to quiet down. Some nights are harder than others, but I’m learning to be gentle with myself through it all. If you’re awake too, you’re not alone. 🌙

#InsomniaStruggles #sleeplessnights ##youarenotalone YouAreNotAlone

Growing up as a missionary kid in the IFB church shaped much of who I was—for better and for worse. The strict rules, the fear-based teachings, and the pressure to always appear “perfect” left deep scars. Leaving that world behind has been both freeing and painful.

Religious trauma isn’t always visible, but it affects how we see ourselves and the world. Healing is a slow journey, but sharing our stories helps. If you’re also healing from religious trauma, know you’re not alone. There is hope beyond the fear.

Thank you to this community for being a place of understanding and support. 💙

#ReligiousTraumaSurvivor #MissionaryKid #IFB #healingjourney #youarenotalone